


Discipline

by flinchflower



Series: Slash Me Twice [75]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Discipline, Impala, Lectures, M/M, Spanking, Tessera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-20
Updated: 2013-10-20
Packaged: 2017-12-29 22:03:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,631
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1010637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flinchflower/pseuds/flinchflower
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt 75: Famous.  Mistress Tess takes John's suggestion that he'd appreciate the help, and takes Dean in hand *author  shivers*.  Oh Dean!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Discipline

**Author's Note:**

> Copyright notice: I hold the copyright for Mistress Tess & Tessera, original characters, and multiple storylines associated with her. Someday (hopefully sooner than later) you'll see her in a series of novels, I ask that at this time others refrain from use of the character without express permission. She is allowed to play in fanfic, I just request that I know about it. Frankly, I hesitate to post any of the fics with her in them, it's always a struggle... but... here we are.
> 
> Disclaimer: Not for profit, simply a writing exercise. Herein lies Dean/Sam slash, in an AU timeline where John did not lose his life. John appears in parental context only. Follows in series from previous prompts, but stands alone if preferred.

Dean tried to turn his famous charm on Tess, as they moved through the hallway. Big mistake there. She simply stopped flowing forward through the halls, and he suddenly felt like an anchor, weighing the beautiful woman down. She studied him for a moment, and he felt himself shrink under her scrutiny, wanting to be annoyed with himself for it, but in truth, far better men than he were routinely reduced to quivering masses under her experienced hands. He wondered exactly what John had told her.

“You, my boy, aren’t going to fool me with the famous charmer routine. And it seems a weak attempt at best.”

“Ah,” Dean ran a hand over his hair, and shifted in place. “Sorry, ma’am.” 

“A little less hope drawling through your apology, and I could consider believing you.”

He flushed, and then she took his arm, drawing him through the hallway again, until she pulled out a key, letting them into the suite of rooms he could practically think of as theirs, though it had been months since they’d been here. Deciding discretion was the better part of valor, Dean simply stood where she left him in what he thought of as the living room, observing her movements quietly. It sounded as if she were warming up a meal, and turning down the beds, and it clashed for a moment with her image, in the long crimson gown.

Finally, she paced over to stand before him, and he –dammit – felt himself flush under her practiced eye.

“I hear you gave your father some trouble on the drive down.”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t believe I heard that, Dean,” she purred, and stepped closer to him. He swallowed convulsively.

“Yes, ma’am.”

“You are going to go into the bedroom, and you are going to strip out of every piece of clothing you have on. Do you understand me?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“By the time you’re done neatly folding your clothes, I’ll have a bath run for you. Then while we get you cleaned up, you’ll tell me all about   
the shenanigans you gave John. Now go.”

He made himself saunter calmly off, and she shook her head, gliding into the bathroom. However, he found his hands trembling as he unbuttoned his shirt, sliding out of his layers. Uncertain, where all that annoyance and attitude were coming from – worry over Sam and the upcoming confrontation, the frustration of living out of a cave for weeks, living on the run without hunting much, take your pick, he thought sourly. And then promptly thought that he’d have to put a lid on it if he wanted to be there for Sam. Shit. He felt a wash of guilt, deserving of what he’d gotten from his father, but not quite ready to capitulate to the hell Tess was about to put him through to straighten him out. Fuck.

He tapped softly on the bathroom door, and she admitted him with a nod. Hopefully pleased. She had changed, and he was startled by the realization that her quarters must be the last door on their hallway, he'd heard the door open and close twice, listening to her footsteps. She was dressed in a black cotton pant suit now, and she beckoned to him.

“Turn round, let me see.”

He shuffled his feet, looking anywhere but at her, grimacing.

“Turn now or face the consequences.” The steel in her voice was incredible, and he swung round, grimacing. His ass was cherry red, with some dusky bruises coming up. Those were some long-standing lines he’d crossed with his father, and he swallowed, realizing that his dad had effectively handed the traditional finale to such behaviour over to Tess. John having to pull over netted whichever of them got it a second spanking once they arrived at their destination, and his heart plummeted as the knowledge of exactly how badly this was going to suck filtered through it.

“Dean Michael Winchester.”

Oh fuck. Tess didn’t use full names, usually – he knew from the damn dom classes that it was a technique reserved for deep trouble, and for a moment wondered just how many people he could get into it with in a single day. He waited, though, for the next command.

“You turn your butt around and get in that bathtub.”

There it was. The hot water felt good, and he sank down gratefully, with a wince when his butt hit the porcelean. She knelt down, pulled the showerhead down, and proceeded to half drown him. Then a soapy washcloth was pushed into his hand.

“Get busy.”

He obeyed gladly, not daring to open his eyes, knowing the grit from his hair was probably all over his face. It was easy to obey the simple instructions while he had the distraction of cleaning himself up, pauses to change position. She was gentle, helping to wash the weeks worth of river water out of his hair, and with the cloth along his back and backside – he’d gotten the rest of himself pretty clean, and when he dared open his eyes after scrubbing his face and Tess rinsing it off, the water was dismayingly murky. 

“Up.” She sprayed him down with the detachable showerhead, and stood him in a corner of the big bathroom. Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck. He heard the tub draining, the sounds of cleaning, and then fresh water being run in, wryly agreeing that yeah, a second wash wouldn’t hurt, and facing into the corner was probably a good idea, because this way he didn’t have to resist-

And then she was yanking him over her knee, a towel over her lap, and a paddle was crashing down on his backside. He wasn’t sure whether the yell he let loose was fear, horror, pain, or apology, and it came a little clearer as she began to lecture.

God. He wondered how long she and John had known one another, in the pauses between swats, as his ass lit on fire and a deep, threatening ache settled into his buttocks. Because her lecturing technique was second only to his father's, and Dean fought with the waves of guilt and regret that the words and the pain yanked to the forefront. He was devastated by the sound of his own crying, magnified by the bathroom, and… well, it was a time for honesty, eh? Intimidated by the gunshot like sounds of the paddle on his damp behind. He tried to hold back, take it like a man, but it was a lost cause, really. He finally realized that she was just stroking his back, one hand resting – god, please move it – on his backside. 

“Now. You’ve had a little reminder, Dean. Can we dispense with the bullshit from here on out? Because you’re not going to like what’s coming to you if I have to put you in this position again.”

“Yes’m,” he choked, face a furious shade of red, not wanting to look at her. She muscled him back into the bathtub, and he knelt, not wanting to sit, surprised she allowed it. He didn’t move, just focused on the gasping breaths he was taking, trying not to cry more, and failing miserably as she gently washed his back, his arms, his chest. It was impossible not to curl up, hugging his legs when she finally did make him sit back on his behind, and she simply moved the washcloth along softly and thoroughly. He heard her rinse it out, and then her hand was firm under his chin, her grey eyes firm and steely when he met her glance briefly, before she carefully bathed his face. Dammit, he couldn’t stop the waterworks.

He was wrapped in a rough terrycloth robe that sparked inglorious blazes across his backside as she walked him to the kitchenette, and a glance from her had him sitting, and putting his head down on the table. He wondered where his father was with Sam, and the thought made him ache like a little boy wanting his daddy. God. How much more humiliating could this get? Tess didn’t say a word, just set a bowl of soup and half a sandwich down in front of him, and he obeyed without question. The tears just wouldn’t stop, though he had a good hold on his breathing. He was starting to feel dazed.

She took a moment to clear the dishes away into the sink, and looked at the young man at the table, feeling a smile steal over her face. John wouldn’t have more problems with this one. And she’d have a word with John himself about letting them get wound up, sitting on stress like that. Indeed she would.

“Come along, Dean.” Her voice was gentle, now, and she led him back into the bedroom, and gathered him into her arms. He rested his head on the soft cotton covering her shoulder, and the sobbing came back, he didn’t think it would ever stop. Except he was out of energy, and eventually the noise – his own, horrifying noise – wound down. She coaxed him to lay down, slipping off the robe, and then he felt her cool touch on his flaming butt, and shivered like a frightened horse. What the hell – he wasn’t Sam, and he wanted it to stop.

“Shh. It’s arnica. You misbehave like that, the bruising can’t be helped, but we can make sure it doesn’t last overly long. Understand?”

Of course he did, but he nodded, and something about her factual manner let the last of the tension go from him. He tried to stay focused on her, he really did, and only one more thing filtered into his awareness.

“Your father will be in, in just a few minutes. You rest, now.”

**Author's Note:**

> Soundtrack - Jean Siberrry "It Won't Rain All The Time"


End file.
